Unspoken Words
by Vsquared-k
Summary: Rachel knew it wasn't wise to take a shortcut through dark New York alleys late at night, but it was late, and she was drunk, and really, really had to get home. Future!fic/later femmeslash, rating for later chapters. Faberry! Prepare for angst.
1. Prologue

**Dis-to-the-claim-er: **Is not mine to own. Never was, never will be.

* * *

**PROLOGUE!  
**

Quinn was getting ready to leave the office when she looked over at the muted TV in the waiting room and saw the headline: _Rachel Berry nominated for Best Leading Actress in a Musical_ _at Tonys_. Quinn smiled satisfactorily at the familiar name, and made a note to tell her colleagues later that night at the CEO's retirement. Though she and Rachel had ended up being quite close by the end of high school, it'd been years since then, and Quinn's relationship with Rachel had been relegated to her having bragging rights for having once shared a stage with the Broadway starlet.

It was times like this that Quinn regretted never keeping in contact with her fellow Glee club members after getting out of Lima, but she had always just put it off until later, since there were so many things she had to do all the time, and really, who would she contact? The only other person in New York was Rachel, and Quinn had always felt more than a little guilt over how she had treated Rachel for so long, so she never bridged the gap between the two of them.

So, as usual, Quinn Fabray just shrugged off the guilty feeling, and walked out and to the parking lot.

* * *

With the sun having set several hours ago, Rachel and her cast mates were winding down from a night of celebratory drinks. Rachel herself was more than a little tipsy, and wasn't completely ready to call it a night, but many of her cast mates had other things to do in the morning, so soon she found herself alone with her drink and a smile on her face.

As she usually did when she was alone, Rachel found herself reminiscing, and laughing to herself. She'd gotten herself out of Lima, and onto several heavily acclaimed Broadway shows. She'd showed all the naysayers from high school, and gotten her own revenge, by being successful doing something she loved.

The first time she had been paid for being on stage (straight out of Julliard), Rachel had sent invitations to the graduating class of Lima in spite of everything that had happened. She never really knew how many of them had made it, but she was certain she'd seen Finn in the audience at one point, if only because he'd been so tall, and, really, it was hard not to see the friendly giant. And there'd been flowers from Mr. Schue, who regretted being unable to make it (Emma was having a baby, and the travel was, apparently, inadvisable for the safety of the baby). That had been several years ago.

And now! Now she was a Tony-nominated actress! She was pretty sure life couldn't get much better than this. Perhaps it was a little lonely, but her cast mates were like her family, and that was all that mattered. She wasn't alone.

* * *

Quinn was late.

Quinn was never late, hated being late, and thought it was abhorrent that anyone couldn't schedule their time correctly to get to things on time. But, for some reason, for the first time in her remarkable life, she was running late (after not having remembered to factor in holiday and weekend traffic in downtown New York). She had essentially been stuck unmoving in traffic for half an hour when she'd just screamed, recklessly pulled over and parked (on the sidewalk, no less; she had a Vespa). She was pretty certain that at this rate, walking to the party would be faster than vehicular travel.

And she was right, but only slightly, since she had forgotten to factor in that she was wearing heels, and that significantly slowed her speed.

So Quinn just pulled her purse towards her shoulder, and walked. It was already dark, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to be walking, but she had to get there as soon as possible. At this rate, she wouldn't get there until the end, and she just couldn't have that. She walked stoically, and gripped her jacket closer to her, grimacing against the wind-tunnel effect from the sky-scrapers.

There was suddenly a scuffling and growling sound from the alley beside her, and she looked up, noticing that across the street, the bar, and everyone from work, was there. Muffled words were next, and though Quinn could not make out what was being said, she could hear the raw fear from the speaker. Having felt that fear before, she knew that someone was being mugged.

But she was late for the party, and being late was bad, and besides, what could she really do to help? It wasn't like she could swoop in and stop the mugger with brute force. The only thing she could do was call the police, and tell them to get to 19th between 5th and 6th quickly, because someone was being mugged in the alley beside the little bookstore (which she did), and try to push the incident to the back of her mind. She had a work party to attend. Certainly someone else would notice and help the poor person in the alley.

* * *

The next day, as Quinn popped back into the office after her coffee break, she noticed a headline on the muted TV, and froze.

_Broadway favorite, Rachel Berry, assaulted last night, and is in hospital in stable condition_

The closed captions told her that Rachel had been attacked last night near Flatiron Lounge, where she'd been celebrating with her cast mates earlier that night, and had been slashed by the mugger across the throat. She was currently stable, but the extent of the damage done to the singer's throat was unknown, and it was unknown if the star would ever be able to speak again, let alone sing. The singer was lucky, because there had been an anonymous tip to the police about the mugging, and they had gotten there quickly, otherwise she would not have made it out alive. The suspect was...

Quinn gaped like a fish at the television, her coffee having dropped onto the floor. She didn't hear her boss asking if she was alright, she didn't feel the scalding hot coffee that had splashed all over her after landing on her shoe and was burning its trail down her shins.

She could only stare at the headline on the TV, and remember how, last night, she had been late. She hadn't stopped to see if the person had been all right. She'd only called the police, and...

"Oh God, Rachel..."

* * *

Rachel was in pain. It was everywhere, yet nowhere, and she didn't want to do anything. It was hard to focus, and the only thing she could really do was nothing. So she drifted back into the bliss of darkness, and that was okay with her.

* * *

**A/N:** I swear I didn't watch Glee until I got into Faberry and Brittana. This is insane. Insanity, I tell you! Anyways, I know, I'm evil, but... this is for the best, I swear. A really short intro into what will hopefully be a decent Faberry story/novella. I say decent because there are so many good Faberry writers that I don't think I deserve to even be here writing anything for it. I love that you all use grammar properly... thank you.

Why yes, Rachel is now famous, and still full of heart, and still amazing. Why yes, Quinn is very indifferent. Why yes, I did just destroy Rachel's future.

Funny thing is, I hadn't even watched Laryngitis until after I came up with the idea. Now I have a better idea of how Rachel will react, which is entirely beneficial to me.

Also, a big thank you/shout out to my editor/alpha-reader, Albrecht Starkarm (aka Batman)! I sent this to him about... 9-ish this evening, and he'd already responded by 11-ish. Go grovel for his edits; that's how cool he is. He recently was hazed by the censors of fanfiction for his amazing writing skills, and responded successfully with wit. Thank you for reading it over and letting me know that I'm not as sucky as I think I am. You're awesome.

_Next Chapter: Quinn tries to get in contact with Rachel, and Rachel finally becomes fully aware of her surroundings._


	2. Chapter 1

**Preface: **_OMG_ guys, are you still waiting for this? GAWD I feel awful... *shudders* I'm so sorry for being forever with this... I don't upload here til Batman checks it over, but he checked this one over forever ago, and I forgot to upload it :O I upload my unchecked work at my lj... *pouts* I feel so bad...

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, and never will be.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Quinn slammed her hand down on the receptionist's desk, and gritted her teeth to stop from screaming like a maniac. She was over her HBIC attitude, she really was, but she it was times like this that she wished Glee club hadn't made her soft (She didn't notice the irony of how she wouldn't even have been in the hospital to see Rachel if it weren't for glee club) She was trying to be understanding, she really was. But how was she supposed to have PROOF that she'd gone to high school with THE Rachel Berry? It wasn't like she carried her yearbook around in her purse! And even then, the receptionist would probably just snap her gum, then tell her that it wasn't enough, Hun, sorry. She was sorely tempted to pull a pathetic spy-attempt by causing a harmless distraction, then sneaking behind the desk to take a peek at the rooming notes, but she was sure that it was illegal, and she didn't want to seem like a stalker (like the rest of the waiting room was).

Finally resigning herself to just sending flowers and a get well card (which would undoubtedly be lost in the sea of other such gifts), Quinn turned to leave. She'd taken long enough of a bathroom break already.

Later that night, Quinn was eating ice cream in front of her television set, spoon half in her mouth, when she saw herself on the screen, yelling angrily at the receptionist. It was only for about 3 seconds, but it was long enough for her to be mortified. How had she not noticed the cameras? Had she been that focused on seeing Rachel that she'd missed the camera crew? She was really losing her touch...

Unbeknownst to her, Rachel's dads were also watching that same newscast (from the privacy of Rachel's single room), and they looked at each other, both recognizing the blonde as the formerly bitchy ex-cheerleader Rachel had befriended in high school. They also knew that it had been Quinn that had placed the call that saved their daughter, because it really hadn't been all that anonymous (the police have their ways), just unpublicized. So it was a complete surprise to Quinn when she picked up her phone the next morning to see 3 missed calls from an unknown number, and, when she checked her voice mail, a message from Rachel's fathers, asking if she could please call back, because it would be nice for more of Rachel's friends to be there for her when she woke up after surgery, and they'd be very grateful if she'd come, because they, too, could use a friendly and familiar face right now, and New York wasn't all too full of those.

Quinn didn't call back right away, first calling her assistant ("The fuc- Hello Miss Fabray, why are you calling me so early in the morning on a Saturday? Cancel all... Yes ma'am, I will. Even... Alright ma'am, I will."), knowing full well that her day had been for apartment shopping, since her lease was ending, and she wanted a change of setting. At this point, she was pretty sure another twelve months in the same place was doable if she could see Rachel, if only to alleviate whatever that feeling was in her gut. She was pretty sure it was unease, guilt, worry, and nervousness mashed together in a blender, and shoved down her throat in a remarkably forceful manner. She had to see if Rachel was okay, and if she wasn't, Quinn Fabray would not leave her side until she was.

After that, she took a shower, where she formulated the exact words she'd say to Rachel's dads on the phone, because, damn it, she had to tell them that she could have saved Rachel, but she hadn't, and regrets were a bitch. She had to tell them that all she'd done was call the police, like some sort of heartless person, and left their daughter for as good as dead in an alleyway. Hopefully, after that, they'd still let her see Rachel, because she had to apologize to the brunette as well.

Then, after dressing and admitting to herself that she was most definitely stalling, she finally picked up the phone again, and called the unfamiliar number on her phone back. A groggy voice answered, and when Quinn checked her alarm clock (belatedly), she winced. Calling at 8 in the morning was probably a bad idea... barely anything more than breakfast diners and coffee shops were open at this hour. She made a mental note to buy her assistant a latte and a biscotti on Monday as an apology for waking her up an hour before. She licked her lips, and spoke hesitantly.

"Hi... It's Quinn Fabray. You called last night?"

There was a noise of affirmation, and the male voice that she heard in her ear was warm, but decidedly tired and ragged, probably due to stress. "We saw you on the news last night. You've grown up, Quinn."

Quinn blushed. "I... that was, erm... well." She coughed a little, and nearly missed the part about being put on speaker phone. decided that she'd just have to say what she had practiced in the shower. "Mr. Berry, I'd like to apologize."

"For?"

"I was the one who called the police two nights ago."

"We know." Quinn feels a shiver start at the top of her head, and slither down her spine. If they knew, then they probably hated her and they wouldn't let her see Rachel, because she didn't try to hel- "Thank you; you saved her life."

"Wait, what?" She hadn't, she'd ignored someone in need, and had inadvertently hurt someone she claimed she was friends with. She decided to scrap her Berry-parent speech, and wing it instead. "I could have gone into the alley, I could have seen if she was all right. I just ignored her!"

"And to what means, Quinn? You might have been hurt in the process, then who would have called the authorities, preventing you both from dying? You saved her, Quinn, and we're eternally grateful."

Quinn was speechless. She'd expected having to grovel for forgiveness, not to be given love and thanks!

"Well, anyway," piped up Rachel's other dad, "we'd love it if you came to visit Rachel... She's not very lucid at the moment, but she'll be happy to see you. We will too; there aren't very many friendly faces in New York for us, so it'd be nice to see you."

She nodded, silently agreeing with the men, then realized that they couldn't see her. "I know what you mean..."  
There was a small pause, then Quinn quietly told the men she'd be there in an hour, tops.

After hanging up, Quinn collapsed on her couch, completely stunned by the open forgiveness and blatant love the Berry's had given her. She had been so sure that they'd called her to rip her a new one, but that they'd opened up their arms to her, and to alleviate her guilt... It was a little much for the woman to handle, and she was pretty sure she'd spend the rest of her life making it up to them, even if they told her it was okay (which they undoubtedly would).

An hour later saw Quinn Fabray looking nervously at a hospital room door, clutching a little package to her chest. She hadn't seen Rachel in a long time, so she was hoping the starlet hadn't changed too much over the years. She screwed up her courage, and knocked lightly on the door. A quiet murmur that told her to enter had her taking a deep breath and opening the door as quietly as possible. Two tired looking men turned their heads and smiled warmly at her, but her eyes immediately shot over them to the prone girl on the bed, surrounded by machines.

"She's sleeping right now... the pain medication is really amazing." Quinn nodded absently, and walked over, fighting tears. Rachel looked... There was a a thick gauze covering on her throat, and tubes everywhere. Quinn placed her little package on the night table beside Rachel's other get well presents, and reached out hesitantly, not wanting to disturb the girl. Quinn just needed to know if she was okay. Her fingers gently caressed Rachel's cheek, and she collapsed into a heap of tears.

"I'm so, so sorry, Rachel," she sobbed. "I don't even know what I was doing..." She held her head in her hands. "I don't know what happened... I didn't know."

One of Rachel's dads reached over to pat Quinn on the shoulder. "We don't blame you, and she won't either."

A while later, Quinn looked up at him, eyes wet and shiny. "Will she be able to sing again?"

His face fell, crumpling in on itself, and she started in on a fresh batch of tears. All of Rachel's dreams, all her everything, had been ripped from her, and Quinn had been in a position to save her, to save her dreams. All the two men could make out was blubbering, and the odd exclamation of how it was all Quinn's fault; how it was always Quinn's fault.

A heavy hand squeezed on her shoulder, and she tried her best to get herself together. When she had, she turned to who she remembered as Abraham. He pulled her up into a warm hug, and she sighed. He murmured in her hair and rubbed her back until she could breathe without her breath hitching, before pulling back, hands still on her shoulders.

"How about we three go for some coffee, and you tell us how life has been for Quinn Fabray for the past..."

"Eight years? I think?" She sniffled slightly. She looked over her shoulder at Rachel.

"She's not going anywhere, sweetie. She'll be here when we get back." She nodded absently, and let the two men led her out of the room.

* * *

Rachel couldn't feel anything. She couldn't quite muster the strength to open her eyes, and there was some sort of heaviness on her body that made everything harder than it usually was. Breathing was difficult, but luckily her subconscious still took care of that, only notifying her of its discomfort. Thinking was a little difficult too, so she stuck to just... listening. That wasn't too hard.

When she'd first woken up, she'd heard voices, sad ones, and she didn't know why, but she felt like she recognized them. There had been two men and one woman, and the woman had been sad. Her brain wasn't functioning quite enough to understand the words of what was being said, but it was working enough to understand the feelings behind it all, and the woman had been devastated. Rachel had listened to the men converse with the woman, and then the voices faded away.

Which brought her to the moment she's in, in near silence, where her tired and sluggish brain is attempting to make connections, because she was sure she recognized them. An epiphany came with the two men. It wasn't too hard, because she'd grown up for... many years, lots of years, listening to them talk. She'd know their voices anywhere, her brain just had to catch up sometimes, apparently. Abraham was the one with the deep voice, and gentle laugh, and hugs. Peter was the one with the big smiles, and funny jokes, and the putting-on of band aids. There was more, but her mind couldn't quite reach that yet.

The woman, though, was different. There was something... familiar about her voice, about the brokenness and hurt, and the sounds of her tears. She'd heard it all before, once, many years ago. How many, she wasn't sure, but she knew, knew, that this woman was someone that was from her past, whenever that was.

Rachel tried to wrestle with her sluggish mind, to remember, because, for some reason, she just knew that this woman was important. Something was there, and she wanted to find it. She wanted to get a name, a face, anything, but her brain proved too tired, and she fell back asleep.

_TBC_

* * *

**A/N: **Dearest readers, you may realize that I am writing about New York as a harsh and unloving place. I'm probably incredibly wrong, but I'm not pointing a finger at New York in particular, more big cities in general. I just moved into a big city from the burbs, and it's very distressing how unfriendly and rigid people in the downtown core are. There is very little conversation, horrible driving, and general disinterest. There's a distinct cynicism that exists everywhere. That, and just about everyone is either walking fast (that's one thing I'm glad for) or plugged into their music. Smiles are few and far in between, and greeting strangers is taboo. People seem to be incredibly lonely.

That's what I'm trying to show has happened to Quinn since getting to New York. She's been sucked into this unloving atmosphere of the metropolis, and so when someone she doesn't know is hurt, she doesn't really do anything about it. She does, but not anything that will hurt her pocketbook or get in the way of her plans. She's being snapped out of it now, because it turns out that the person in the alley was a friend, and so now she's fully aware of how much she's changed, and I think she's going to try and make amends. Guilt does that to a person.

On another note, what do you think Quinn's job should be? She's obviously high enough on the corporate ladder to have an assistant... Also, how long have they been separated? I've made it tentatively 8 years, but what, dear readers, do you think?

**A/N2**: I'm using iWorks 'Pages'. it says that 'bitch' should is bad, because it's a "sexist expression. Avoid using to refer to women". Haha!

[long author's note is long]**  
**


	3. Chapter 2

**Preface:** I fail at life and I'm sorry, as this has sat on my desktop for much too long for comfort... Also Angst.

**Disclaimer:** Breakfast is confusing. Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's salty, and sometimes it's bacon.

* * *

The Berrys sat across from Quinn in the hospital cafe, watching as she stared at her coffee, eyes listless and empty.

Abraham reached across the table to gently take hold of her hand. "It's not your fault. Really."

Quinn sat quietly, thinking. The men just looked at each other, waiting for her to break the silence.

"My sister was hearing impaired," the blonde blurted out. "I can help Rachel... adjust, maybe. I'm fluent in ASL, so..." The men stared at her, perplexed. "I... I have a lot of money saved up, and I can take time off from my job, since I'm pretty sure they were going to offer me the option of working from home anyway. My stocks are doing really well..." Peter raised an eyebrow, and cocked his head, confused. "I... I just want to help her."

"She won't think it's your fault; you know that, right?"

She looked away. "I'd blame me, if I were in her shoes..." Her eyes were broken, haunted. After having seen Rachel in the bed, Quinn was absolutely stunned. She had given up the opportunity to save someone who, when they had been younger, was so full of talent that it leaked out of her pores. Rachel was nominated for a Tony, and now she'd never sing again.

Abraham squeezed her hand comfortingly. "But Rachel's not you." He gave her a little broken smile, which she found herself unable to return.

* * *

Rachel's eyes fluttered open, and she looked around at the bland and empty hospital room. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak, to see if anyone was around. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out, only an odd wheezing breathless thing. Rachel's eyes widened, and she tried again, hands moving to her throat. There were... bandages there. Bandages that covered wounds caused by... she wracked her brain, and suddenly a previously foggy memory surfaced in remarkable clarity.

Tony nominations, drinking with cast mates, getting tipsy; walking through an alley as a shortcut (to where?); hands grabbing her mouth, her arm; rough demands for quiet, for money; cold steel on her throat; soft cries to just please let her go, you can have everything, just please not the throat, please let her go, please help; watching crowds pass by, uncaring and ignorant; a single person stopping, blonde hair shining in the streetlight; louder pleas for aid, hope fluttering in her chest; pain, blossoming pain, across her throat, body falling, heart bleeding, and the person with the golden hair flips open her phone and simply walks away. All that remains is pain, ever increasing, ever constant pain, as she gasps for air on the alleyway floor.

Street noises.

Darkness.

* * *

Quinn lagged behind Rachel's fathers as they went back to Rachel's room. So when they began running towards it, where several orderlies were entering, she ended up chasing after them in her heels. She was pushed into the doorknob, and stood, winded, in the crowded doorway, as two separate orderlies held down the thrashing woman in the bed, and a third advanced on her with a gas mask. The bandages around Rachel's neck were wrecked; the wounds had reopened and were bleeding profusely. Quinn stared as the mask was lowered over Rachel's face, watched as she stilled in the bed, and, just as brown eyes were closing, they connected unflinchingly with hazel. The blonde shivered at the desperate, crazed and panicked look in Rachel's eyes, the devastation too much for her to bear.

There had been absolutely no spark of humanity from the woman in the bed. Rachel hadn't even been present with them.

Doctors streamed past her in slow motion, scrubs on and ready to save the diva, who was still bleeding from her neck wounds, bleeding red red red. The orderly that had handled the gas mask went to find restraints in case the diva woke up again and another episode occurred, while the two that had held her down stripped off bloody latex gloves, depositing them in the yellow medical waste bin. Still Quinn stood in the doorway, staring at the prone form of a girl from her memories through a veil of doctors that worked furiously to staunch the flow of blood. The blood that had seeped into the sheets and bandages and everywhere was a garish red that just burned into Quinn's mind until she couldn't see any other color.

One of the orderlies put a hand on her shoulder, moved into her vision, mouth opening and closing, up and down, but she couldn't hear a sound. "What?" she wanted to yell, "What could possibly be more important than making sure Rachel is okay?" but her mouth wouldn't work, so she stood dumbly in the doorway until the orderly led her out of the room, closing the door behind them, and to a chair.

Slowly, color and sound returned to her. She turned to the stranger next to her, and saw a streak of red on their face. Rachel's blood, she realized. Rachel's blood, that Quinn had caused to come out of her, because she hadn't done the right thing. She hadn't done anything to save Rachel and now everything was going to fall apart for the diva. Everything.

And it was all Quinn's fault.

The orderly asked if she'd be okay, then, after the smallest of nods from Quinn, left to see what they could help with back in the room. Quinn's eyes moved lifelessly to the floor, staring at the pale linoleum tiles, counting the speckles on each tile, if only to take her mind off what was happening back inside. She heard a soft sob, mangled and broken, and by the time she realized it came from her own throat, she was falling apart in the chair, tears streaming down her face.

By the time she could breathe again, she noticed that she wasn't the only broken one in the hallway, that Rachel's dads were there too. She made her way over to them as they clutched tearfully at each other, and when they noticed she was there, they opened their arms for her, and she fell in, desperate for human contact. She whimpered apology after apology for hurting their darling little girl, their little gold star, and they only pulled her tighter into themselves, whispering through their own tears that it was okay, that they forgave her and thank you for helping us keep our little girl. She's alive, it's okay, it wasn't your fault, we forgive you.

We forgive you.

Quinn cried herself to sleep in their arms.

* * *

In Rachel's drug-induced sleep, she kept reliving that moment. That moment when who she had been sure would be her savior turned and walked away. She could hear herself calling, screaming, "Please, please turn around, please help me, please just... save me!" but the blonde woman never heard her, and just pulled out her cellphone, again and again.

"Please..."

She could smell the acrid scent of blood, which she knew was her own. She could taste it, even, as it mixed with the flavor of fear and dirt. The pain was all encompassing, and she knew, just knew that there would be no way she would be able to be fully herself again, after this. She just watched the blonde, hand outstretched imploringly.

Turn around, please, just turn around, notice me, save me, help me.

But the blonde never turned, never showed her face.

* * *

When Quinn regained consciousness, she found herself in a cot in Rachel's room. The woman's bandages had been changed, as had her sheets. They were a pristine white. There was absolutely no sign that anything had happened there at all earlier, except for the new restraints that held her to the bed. Her fathers sat around it, eyes hollow, but they looked up when Quinn moved. Abraham tried to smile, eyes still shining with tears, and Quinn felt broken again.

She slid her legs off the cot and walked carefully to Rachel's bed, sitting next to her in the quiet of the room, the silence only broken by the beeping of the heart monitor. Quinn fingered the straps of leather holding Rachel's arms and body, and shivered. She knew those, she'd seen them before. They were for suicide prevention, amongst other things.

"The doctor said..." Quinn looked up at the Berry men, and Peter swiped a hand at his eyes. "He said there's nothing they can do after what just happened... her voice box is too damaged at this point, and the chance that she'll be able to talk again is incredibly slim. There will be absolutely no singing. Ever." He clenched his jaw, and Abraham reached out and pulled his husband into a tight embrace.

Quinn's eyes watered, heartbroken at the idea of the world losing such talent. She stroked the brunette's limp hand, then held onto it, touching it to her forehead as she let out a stream of apologies, back bowed. "I'll do anything to make this better. Anything. I'm sorry."

_TBC_

* * *

**A/N: **AHHH! THIS FICCCCC *dies* It's getting too emotional for me, but I'll still write it, because I want them to be happy. I just couldn't continue writing this chapter... 3


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Monday was a miserable day for Quinn. With the office in complete flux from the retired CEO, she wasn't able to get a day off from work to stay with Rachel. The Berry men would not allow her to take a sick day, and seeing as the doctors planned to keep the unconscious brunette sedated for a little while longer (to at least allow her wounds to close again), Quinn knew they were right. She ignored the thinly veiled back handed insults from the female coworkers about how tired and slovenly she looked, trudging through her day by sipping on coffee and focusing solely on her work.

Hours later, Quinn looked up at a light knock on her door, mouth set in a thin line. The distraction took her away from her project which, in turn, took precious time away that she could use finishing and leaving early, which took away from seeing Rachel. She could see the chief financial officer standing at her door, eyebrows set in worry.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" She shook her head slightly, knowing that the man would understand. Walking in, he shut the door behind him before walking over to the seat in front of her desk. "What happened to the Quinn I saw on Friday?"

A deep breath. A pause. "That Quinn... she's gone for a while." She swallowed. "An old... fr- uh, classmate of mine was hurt... because of something I did." A tight-lipped smile accompanied a furrowed brow, and Quinn licked her lips. "I... I had no idea my actions could have such horrible consequences. Her life is completely ruined, and it's all my fault."

"Well, you're young, so it's a good time to learn it, I'd say." He smiled tightly at her, not sure what to do with the obviously distraught woman. "I'm sorry about your classmate, but I know you, Quinn. You're probably putting too much blame on yourself."

She shook her head furiously. "Nothing's ever going to be right for her ever again, and I feel so horrible about it."

He tweaked her chin with his hands. "Buck up, kiddo." She attempted a smile, looking away from his compassionate eyes. "I've got good news for you, yeah? Meet me in my office in five minutes. Maybe after I finish telling you, you can take the rest of the day off... celebrate, maybe. Meet up with some old friends, drink a few beers." He smiled warmly at her, missing how her face paled at the mention of drinking, before getting up to leave.

"Yes... sir." The door clicked shut with a sort of finality. Quinn stared, unblinkingly, at her desk for a couple minutes before she organized her desk, needing something to do before she headed out.

* * *

Even before Rachel's eyes opened, she'd known something was off. She remembered, from the last time, she was in the white room with the white curtains and the white sheets and the disgusting medicinal smell. She wasn't well. And there was something drastically wrong with her throat.

She went to move her arm, and felt resistance. She tugged harder, and was just as unsuccessful, except for the sound of stretching leather.

"Rachel?"

Her eyes flew open. Dad.

She turned to the side of her bed, and saw her fathers. Peter. Abraham. She opened her mouth to greet them, eyes narrowing when nothing came out. She tugged again at the restraints she had on her wrists, frowning.

"Hi there, Rachel." They were... smiling. But they weren't happy. She could read them, she could, after all these years. She'd missed them, but they had their own lives in Lima and...

Why were they in New York?

Why were they crying?

Rachel worked her fingers upwards, wiggling them futilely, hoping they'd notice. But they were staring so intently at her face that they didn't realize that she wanted someone to hold her hand. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her frown turned even lower.

They would know, right? They'd know what'd happened to her throat that made it so itchy and painful, so that even breathing was a chore. They'd explain it all, right?

"You're going to be okay." Peter's hand stretched out, tentative and shy, before his fingers caressed Rachel's cheek lightly. Rachel sighed soundlessly as she leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering closed. If he said so, if daddy said so, everything was going to be okay.

He'd never been wrong before.

* * *

Quinn sat in a taxicab full of miscellaneous boxes, each box meticulously labeled with company names and dates, or full of personal affects. She got the permission to take her work home from her office, and knew she'd have all the time she wanted to take care of it all. 'Stay on top of the market,' they'd said, and if she hadn't already been so frazzled, she would have laughed. Quinn had always been able to see the trends before they happened, which had helped her reach the position that she had in such a short amount of time.

Now all she'd have to do was analyze data sent to her from the main office from her home office. She could practically do that in her sleep.

The cab driver was kind enough to help her unload her boxes onto the side of the road outside her building, and she somehow enlisted security's help in bringing them to her unit, and once she'd gotten everything piled in the corner by her desk, she'd just grabbed her keys and left again.

She hadn't seen Rachel in over twelve hours. That was too long.

Who knew how much had changed since the last time she'd seen her?

A lot could change over twelve hours...

* * *

Liars.

They were both liars.

She lay in the bed, lips pursed and barely breathing, as the doctor came in and explained what had happened to her. That she'd been assaulted in an alleyway (she knew that) and that someone had called (the... blonde?) and that she wouldn't ever be able to sing again.

She wouldn't much be able to talk again either.

At the doctor's words, she pulled so strongly on her restraints that she'd pulled herself nearly out of the bed itself. And when an orderly had come to help her, she'd kicked him. Repeatedly.

Her mouth opened and let out a kind of gargling noise. She was certain that it was meant to be a scream. She was certain, at some point in her life, that scream would have burst an eardrum and broken an eardrum or two.

Instead she made that gargling noise. She made it until she had no more air to bubble through the mess in her throat, and then she just sat on her bed, mouth wide open in a silent scream, arms tied to the sides of her bed, tears burning trails down her cheeks. She screamed in her mind like she'd never screamed before. Like she'd never needed to before.

Like she never would again.

All her fathers could do was watch her weep. They watched as their broken daughter broke further. They knew that if they so much as touched her, she'd break further. They might never have her again.

Without her voice, what did Rachel have to live for?

Without her words, who was Rachel Berry, gold star?

She wanted so much to be free of the bed, free of the leather restraints, free of the nightmare that her life was becoming.

She had a future. She had one, and now it was gone. It was gone, and now she had this gaping darkness in place of it, where nothing, _nothing, _was anything like what she'd known since her birth, and whose fault was that? What was she going to do?

How was she going to survive?

The door was thrown open, and heels clattered into the room, before a gasp was let out.

"Rachel..."

She didn't bother to turn towards the new voice. This wasn't how she wanted people to see her. Broken. Defeated. Lost.

She didn't think she'd ever be found again.

Then a touch, a light one. On her hands. She wrapped her fingers around the support there, and turned, slightly, to look at their hands. Pale mixed with tan, and she was surprised...

She couldn't see.

Was she going blind too? Everything was blurry and wet.


End file.
